Prom
by HedgieX
Summary: What if Tom and Nicki had both been by Josh's side as he'd suffered, and afterwards they'd gone outside and stood under the stars, and kissed? Inspired by a conversation with Never-Clip-My-Wings-x. This is what should have happened at the prom.
1. Robin Hood

**What if Tom and Nicki had both been by Josh's side as he'd suffered, and afterwards they'd gone outside and stood under the stars, and kissed? Inspired by a conversation with Never-Clip-My-Wings-x. This is what should have happened at the prom.**

His voice was a whisper, "Dad."

Tom knelt by his son's side; he pressed his hands against the tear in his flesh, tried to stem the blood dribbling down, soaking into his shirt, hitting the hall floor.

Josh was breathing hoarsely. The sound reminded Tom of a balloon, not popping and dying instantly, but gradually losing air, hissing, getting weaker and more helpless with every second that passed by.

A red balloon. Blood everywhere. His son's blood on his hands; somehow, he felt as though it really was his fault. Why had he brought him back here? He could've rung Michael and told him about the prom being secretly rearranged. For once, he could've put his family before his work, and they could've sat at home, watched the X Factor, eaten curry and chocolate.

Or maybe salad; Josh was always teasing him about his weight. Maybe it wasn't really a joke – maybe he actually meant it. Did he embarrass his son, not just with his (being kind to himself) chubbiness, but with his behaviour in general?

"It's okay. It's okay, Josh."

He could hear Sian behind them, her professionalism holding out over the fear in her voice as she requested an ambulance. _Teenage boy_, she said._ He's been stabbed in the side._ She was right – he was just a little boy, Tom's little boy. What had he done?

He couldn't stop the blood seeping through Josh's side. He tore off his jacket, bundled it up over the wound. He could feel Josh's heartbeat in his hands, even faster than his own, if that was possible.

"Dad, I'm sc-scared."

He reached out and stroked his son's cheek with a trembling hand. Smeared blood everywhere. "I'm here."

Gasps echoed all around him, and a few squeals at the sight of so much blood; cries of _Josh_ and _oh my God_. Had they given him a second glance before in their lives? They suddenly cared?

Why was he being such a bastard? He didn't possess his son; he didn't even deserve to know him any more, to have any influence over his life. Of course they cared. When a human being saw another in pain, they wanted them to be okay: that was normal, natural, instinct. Why did it feel so foreign to Tom now, so threatening?

_Thank you_, Sian was saying. Like she was in a different world, not right beside him: her words zigzagged through his mind, entering and yet not being absorbed. Thank you? Thank you for what, exactly? He was struggling to find something to be grateful for in this scenario.

"Nicki," Josh mumbled.

"Hey, kidda," her arms reaching out, cradling his head on her lap, wiping away the blood from his face and rocking him gently.

Tom felt an urge to push her away from his son, but he looked calmer now she was there, holding him. Not so frightened. The colour in his eyes fading away, his lips trembling.

He seemed to have lost all of his vocabulary, repeating the same things through gasps for air, "I'm scared."

"There's nothing to be scared of, Josh. The ambulance is on its way now, okay? They'll take you to hospital, and sort you out – you're going to be fine. Back playing football in a few weeks."

"We... we l-lost... the last... m-match."

"Well, imagine what they'll be like without you. They need you to be okay so you can go back and help them win, don't they? Come on; next week, you'll be sitting on the sidelines clapping. We'll get Lauren to teach you some cheerleading, perhaps."

The smallest smile flickered across his face. Stumbling over his words, shaking, speaking so weakly, "I'm... I'm n-not... danc... dancing."

Tom wondered how Nicki was doing this, how she was managing to stay so calm. Maybe she was just a stranger to emotion; maybe she just didn't know what it was like to care for someone?

"Come on," Tom begged, "You need to stay awake, mate. Come on – after everything we've been through? I need you. Please."

Nicki looked up, met his gaze, "It's okay, Tom. He's going to be okay."

She must have done this before, he realised. She must have held someone dying in her arms and comforted them, must have become perfect at pushing away the pain. Not because it got any easier, but because you knew what the person needed. Optimism, and humour, and reassurance. Not hysteria.

Tears were running down her cheeks, but she had the discretion to cry quietly. Later on, when they knew either way, there would be time to reflect on what had happened, time to cling to one another and feel remorse trickle through their veins like the blood Josh was losing. For now, they had to be strong: be united.

"Hey, a crossbow as well? You couldn't have just been stabbed, like any normal person, could you?" she twirled a curl of his chocolaty hair around her thumb, "It's like something from _Robin Hood_, isn't it? I bet you'll be in the newspapers tomorrow."

"Are y-you... you..." he was trying desperately, the smallest gleam of amusement in his eyes, in his words, "M-maid Mar... Marian?"

Tom reached out and took his son's hand, "Yeah, she is. She's going to be the heroine, and she's going to save you, okay? Everything's going to be alright now, son."

"Will... will you... come..."

"Yeah," Nicki interrupted softly, not wanting to hear Josh stumble his way through the whole sentence, see the torture of the pain in his eyes, "Of course. We'll both come with you – me and your dad. In the ambulance, and then we'll stay at the hospital too, yeah? We're not going to leave you, except when we need the toilet."

Tom gave a hollow laugh, "And we won't be going together."

"I... I l-love..."

"I love you too, son. I love you so much. Don't try and talk – it's going to be okay. I promise you," he glanced back across the hall, saw a couple of police officers grabbing Kyle roughly by the arms and handcuffing him. Something like revenge fluttered in his heart. The officers' fluorescent jackets glittered in the disco lights. "It's going to be okay."

Everything still frozen around them, the children frightened, the teachers herding them away from Josh. Michael up on the stage with Trudi and Finn, their first real challenge as the head boy and girl, the most difficult thing to explain.

And somehow everything became clear for Tom, in that little bubble of him and Josh and Nicki, huddled together, tears coating all of their faces, blood all over. It took something like this, something hard, to realise how much you had, and how much you appreciated what you had. You had to see the dark before you could see the light. You had to know there was something wonderful there to fight for.

He released Josh's hand and pressed back down on the makeshift bandage for his son's injury. Nicki reached across to help him, her fingers brushing his. Their eyes met, her beautiful blue gaze liquid, filled with tears, her hair ruffled, her dress – for she was wearing a dress, he realised, accentuating her figure, highlighting the curves of her body – splattered with blood.

"About five minutes," Sian told them gently.

Nicki nodded, "Not long now, Josh."

And Tom wondered, if Nicki was Maid Marian, could they continue the charade? Kyle was the Sheriff, criminal through and through, with no room for love. Tariq was Guy of Gisbourne, perhaps just a good man caught up in bad things.

He touched Nicki's hand again. The question was, if Josh allowed it to happen, if Nicki wanted the same as he did, if everything was okay... could he be Robin Hood?

XxXxX


	2. Mud and Coffee

**Second (and last) part, as promised. Actually, I'm not sure it ever was promised, but I'm remember thinking 'I need to write another chapter for the prom story', so it was promised in my head. Sometimes my head just has all of these ideas, and I have to let them spill out into stories, or something bad would happen… something **_**worse**_** would happen, anyway.**

**For those who are despairing about **_**Bleeding Love **_**and the lack of love between Tom and Nicki, here you go. But be warned, this is my first proper attempt at romance in a fan fiction, except for fluffy little hugs and flirty one-liners, so be prepared…**

"Here you go," Nicki held out a disposable cup of coffee to Tom.

He didn't even notice her, didn't react at all to her presence, so she pressed it against his hand, and somehow his fingers clasped it. She could see the blotches on his skin; he was holding it tighter than he needed to, almost like he was trying to crack it. She closed her eyes, trying to rid herself of the images flashing through her head: blood all over her dress, blood all over Josh, coffee all over Tom.

"Thank you," he whispered, after a moment.

"You're welcome."

Why did they even pretend? Why did human beings have such weaknesses: why did they always somehow convince themselves things were okay, when they weren't?

Tom leant forward over the barrier outside the hospital. An ambulance passed them, a blur of yellow and orange stripes, the siren stretching out long into the hushed night. The doors swung open outside the accident and emergency entrance, and a couple of paramedics wheeled a stretcher out and straight through into the hospital.

A nurse stepped out of the shadows, helped someone else out of the ambulance. Someone huddled in a blanket, sobbing. _Robbie_, she was saying, over and over again. _Robbie. I want my son, please, I want my son. Let me see him. Please, help him – he has to be okay._

The nurse mumbled some professional reassurances and escorted the trembling wreck inside. The silence left behind numbed Tom even more, if that was possible. He tried to sip his coffee, and realised it had burnt his throat, but didn't feel the pain.

Nicki shuffled up and leant beside him, their arms touching. At any other time, his heart would've leapt, and his arms trembled, because of the electricity between them. But his heart had sunk too low for it to get back up again.

He felt like a church steeple, beckoning the lightning towards him, pretending he was most vulnerable part of the town. But when it struck him, he had lightning conductors, so he still craved the electricity, but was left with nothing more than darkness, and a sense of belonging nowhere.

This was what happened when you were an English teacher. You dramatised everything, made it all into a story, a tangle of metaphors. It was easier than reality.

"Tom…"

Her voice was softer than he'd ever realised. He met her gaze, his own tone strangled when he managed to speak. "What if he's… he…"

"He's going to be fine, Tom."

Tom nodded, like a child might when they were told to put the carrot and mince pie out for Santa when they're too old to really believe, when they're starting to understand the lies, but there's still that flicker of doubt – what if it _is_ true?

He knew, in the heart which currently sat deep down somewhere in his intestines, that Josh was really, really ill, and he knew that meant he might die. That was the rational thought, but he pushed it all away. He had to keep believing things would be okay.

"I think you should sit down."

Nicki had taken his arm and settled him in a nearby seat before he could object. He wasn't sure he would've had the strength to object anyway, though; his legs were trembling, as though his weight had been too much to bear. He was making indents in the cup with his nails. He shook his head, kept on shaking it, trying to shake away his tears.

Nicki crouched down by his side, took his hand in hers. She was surprisingly warm. So many things were new about Nicki tonight, as though he was only really noticing for the first time how wonderful she was, her beauty enhanced.

"It's okay. It's okay to cry."

"Yeah. I know."

"I know you know," she said. Smiled at the absurdity of the conversation. Sometimes, she just had to smile, or she'd cry. She couldn't cry tonight: she had to be the strong one, for Tom, and for Josh. She'd had plenty of time to cry.

Everything in hospitals was plastic, she thought. The plastic chair she'd helped Tom collapse back into, and the plastic gloves the nurse had been wearing. The plastic cups they both still clutched, as though their lives depended on not letting go. Or maybe Josh's life depended on it.

He sniffed. Wiped a hand across his face, in such a childish way that she had to smile again. He smiled too, for Josh, and for Nicki.

And suddenly they reached for each other, in the same instant, and she sank down onto his knee, and they were one person, sharing hands, their bodies fitting like a jigsaw. Exploring. Each engrossed in learning every little miniscule detail of their companion, every bump, every dimple.

They shared tears. Their lips pressed together. Kissing outside the hospital, under the stars, nothing forgotten, just perhaps irrelevant for a moment, because they were finally acting on what they'd both felt for so long, and everything was intensified, and it was just perfect.

_He'll be okay_, she seemed to be saying to him, with each second that passed, and their lips stayed connected. She smelled sweet; he couldn't place what it was, exactly. They shared in a silent, mutual prayer for Josh. They shared in a silent belief that he really would be okay.

"Look," she whispered.

He followed her gaze, looked at the sky above them. Nothing. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. There was no Bethlehem star glittering above the hospital; no shooting star either. Not that he expected them, although he hadn't expected this. To be doing what he'd been dreaming of for so long.

"What?"

"It's just… it's just so perfect, isn't it? It seems to stretch on forever. No matter how far apart you are, you can always look up at the sky, and soak up the darkness, and know that the person you're thinking of sees the same stars."

He held her close, "Yes. It's beautiful."

"I'm so glad I came to Waterloo Road."

"Because you met me?"

"No. Well, that too."

He smirked, and she gave him a playful shove. The plastic chair seemed to sink through beneath him, in slow motion, and suddenly they were both on the floor, her on top of him, lying in a pool of coffee, warm on the cool ground.

"Are you okay?" she gasped.

He sounded winded, but she could hear the laughter in his voice, "Perfect."

They rolled around on the floor, hands locked into each other's hair, clinging on, kissing. They didn't go further, because they weren't the sort of people to strip off, to mark their love in the bushes at the hospital, when they were both covered in blood and tears, when it would've been taking advantage to act on their feelings.

They just lay there, gazing up at the stars, at the beauty, and that was better than anything else could've been. Fingers locked together, so many unsaid things passing between them. For once in their lives, there was no need for words.

"Mr…" the voice trailed off at high pitch, "Mr Clarkson?"

He jumped up, helped Nicki up too, prepared himself, "Yes."

"Your son? Josh?"

"Yes. How is he? Is he…"

"He's going to be fine."

A long, long silence. "Thank you. _Thank you_. Can we… can we see him?"

"Of course. This way."

They entered the building, followed the doctor. Nicki ran a subconscious hand through her tangled hair, but she didn't really care about the soil, about the dirt. Not tonight. Their fingers locked together again, and they knew that there was something special between them without needing to share words, without needing to speak. Their eyes locked, and everything was still, silent, perfect.

The door pushed open, "There you go."

Tom took a deep breath and led Nicki inside. When Josh was better, they'd have all of the time in the world, all three of them, to be together. They didn't need any shooting stars tonight, or on any other night. Everything was perfect.

"Dad?"

"Yes, son. I'm here. It's okay. You're okay."

"Why… w-why…" he paused, forced himself up onto one elbow, managed to give Nicki a lopsided grin through the pain, because suddenly everything about his life had started to slot into place, "Why are you covered in mud and coffee?"

XxXxX

**Please review. I cannot describe how wonderful it feels when I get a review. Like the stars, perfect;') xxx**


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